


Unnatural Strain

by Peanutbutterer



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spy, F/M, Mutant, Superpowers, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbutterer/pseuds/Peanutbutterer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the <a href="http://coyote-sga.livejournal.com/">Coyote_SGA</a> universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Elizabeth ducked the punch and popped back up, her right cross connecting solidly with the man’s obtrusive jaw. She winced and shook her hand, cradling it to her chest as she watched her adversary stumble backward, cupping his own chin. She’d split his cheek in a bone-deep gash and a small trail of blood wove between his fingers, but he steadied himself quickly and started to swing in a blind fury, his right striking at her with every ounce of power he could gather. She moved to dodge the blow but he still managed to make contact, and a moment after his knuckles grazed her cheekbone her entire skull roared with pain. Staggering two steps to her right, she shifted her attack and stepped in toward him, stabbing a left into his face and whipping up a right uppercut again to his jaw, sending him reeling.

Backing up, she quickly surveyed her surroundings. A few feet to her left she saw John wrestling with two men. The bastard didn’t even look like he was breaking a sweat. She took a deep breath to steady herself, mentally patting herself on the back for those extra sessions with Ronon. FBI training could only…

Distracted, Elizabeth didn’t see the fist until it was too late. She jerked to the side, but the punch landed solidly in her stomach and she couldn’t stop herself from doubling over in pain. Then he used his free hand to pound her hard on the back, forcing her knees to buckle.

She landed on all fours, arms shaking and barely able to support her weight. Eyes pinched tight and gasping for breath, she just managed to roll from under his driving boot, scrambling to a crouch and bracing herself against the bar. Panting with exertion, she focused all of her concentration on the stool beside her.

“Holy…” she heard him breathe.

The stool rose in the air slowly and an eerie silence descended over the room. She knew every eye was riveted on her, so she let the stool hover a moment, lifting her hand to guide it for dramatic flare, then swiftly swung it down, cracking its brittle legs across her assailant’s head.

Yells, groans and shouts sounded almost in chorus as the fight resumed full force.

Still nursing her bruised abdomen, Elizabeth let her attention stray again to John as she used the rim of the bar to pull herself to her feet. He was using his full reptilian personae now, and half a dozen of the establishment’s patrons were attempting to unite against him.

 _I’m gonna beat that bitch._

The thought floated into her conscious and Elizabeth reacted immediately. Throwing herself to the side, Elizabeth pivoted just as the advancing man lunged, and his own momentum carried him past Elizabeth. Grabbing the back of his shirt as he passed, Elizabeth heaved, redirecting the man’s trajectory so he crashed over the bar and into a bottle-lined shelf.

Sirens wailed nearby and Elizabeth shot a look toward John.

He tossed the brawler he was holding much as he would a discarded toy, sending a full grown man skidding across the floor. As the man groaned and tried to lift himself up, John’s eyes flashed yellow and refocused on the front door. His grin broadened. “Cheese it, the cops!”

Only John Sheppard could pull off slapstick while covered in blue scales.

“What?” He shrugged unapologetically. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Elizabeth shook her head and sighed.

“Everyone freeze!” ordered an officer as a team of blue uniforms spilled through the entryway. “Hands in the air!”

Elizabeth and John did as instructed, but not before Elizabeth concentrated on floating and dropping a mug, splashing its contents across the bar.

She felt John smile.

\--

The officer thrust John into his cell and slammed the door quickly on his heels. John could tell the man was terrified of him, and the irrational bias against mutants caused his scales to tighten and tension to thrum throughout his body.

He glared at the officer through the bars and snarled once for good measure. When he visibly flinched, John barely resisted the urge to reach through the pitiful cage and give him something to justify his fear. Reining in his temper, he turned away instead, disgusted.

He took in his surroundings with one sweeping glance: a toilet and a bed with a bare mattress. Everything in the cell was either nailed down or chained to the wall; it seemed that even the police were afraid of mutants.

When the officer finally scampered away, John dropped onto the bed and closed his eyes, trying to clear the stench of anxiety left in the guard’s wake. After a few deep, cleansing breaths, he propped his forehead against his palms and purposefully cleared his mind. Elizabeth was somewhere in the precinct, probably in another cell, and she might probe to see if he was all right.

A moment after the thought arose, he discarded it.

A month ago she would have, but not now. Ever since… he shook his head and sighed. He honestly had no idea what had happened, but suddenly Elizabeth was aloof, professional, and cold. It felt like night and day from the way she had originally come to him. Now whenever he took a step forward, she took a step back – both literally and figuratively. She was acting like everyone else, something he had thought she would never do. It was clear that she had changed her mind about them having any type of relationship, that she was distancing herself. Just when he thought they had… He clenched his fists. The worst part was that she wouldn’t even tell him why.

He could only assume it had to do with what she’d discovered when he’d let her into his mind.

\--

Someone was coming.

Opening her eyes fractionally, Elizabeth shifted her position to better see the door and listened as it slid open and two large, darkly clad men entered her cell. The sweeping beam of their small flashlight approached her face and she reacted quickly, lunging at the nearest man and jabbing a fist into his kidney, but the two of them together were too much for her. One pinned her wrists behind her back and the other gagged her when she continued to struggle. The more she resisted, the tighter the bindings became. Once the restraints were in place, the larger of the two men yanked her to her feet and dragged her into the corridor and out the back door.

In the alley, a medium sized freight truck was open and running. She squinted into the darkness, straining to make out the vehicle's occupants. Yellow eyes flashed from inside the cargo area and she let out a tense exhale.

Her escort adjusted his hold on her arm and practically lifted her in, dropping her unceremoniously on the floor and shoving her toward the back. She couldn’t keep her momentum from skidding her across the truck bed, but she mercifully came to a stop when she slammed into John’s bound feet. At least it was better than a metal wall. She twisted back to glare at her captors, but before she could get a clear view in the moonlight the door rattled shut and plunged them into darkness.

“You all right?”

She lifted her head, squinting at the rough outline of him, and nodded once. “Yeah. You?”

“The guards can’t keep their hands off me. I think one of them has a little crush.”

As the truck began to move, Elizabeth wriggled into a sitting position and braced her back against the wall opposite John. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, envisioning the knot of her gag loosening. The cloth fell from her mouth and she rested her head against the wall.

“And you’re still handcuffed because?” John prompted, his voice echoing in the small the compartment.

“No keys to lift. They must be with someone else.” She frowned. “How did you know I’m still bound? I can’t see anything in here.”

“My eyes have adjusted. Plus, my night vision is a little better than yours.”

“And why are _you_ still tied up?”

“You think I want to be tranqued? I’m perfectly content to let them think these chains will hold me.”

Elizabeth let her chin drop to her chest and tried to relax, her body bouncing lightly with the bumps of the road.

Three weeks ago, four mutants had been locked up for various crimes in the 17th precinct’s holding cells. All four had disappeared before they could be arraigned. The official report had them labeled as escapees, but something didn’t sit right, so Elizabeth’s team was tasked to take a closer look at the situation. During the course of the investigation, three more mutants had been placed in the jail and each had vanished by the next morning. Searches and inquiries had resulted in nothing but more questions.

That’s when John had devised their current plan. A ridiculous plan, she allowed, but the only one available to them given the circumstances. She and John would set themselves up to be arrested and spend a night in lockup. That would allow them a firsthand look at what was really happening in the precinct. Obviously, they were right to have been suspicious.

“Well, they didn’t escape.”

“No,” John agreed. “They didn’t.”

His tone was clipped and she shifted under the weight of the awkward tension. She adjusted her wrists in the handcuffs, but her movement only caused the metal to dig deeper into her skin. “So,” she asked with forced levity, “what kind of odds are you willing to lay that they’re taking us to a mutant paradise?”

John blinked at her and said nothing.

She shrugged at the darkness and offered quietly, “It doesn’t hurt to hope.”

As the truck continued to rumble along, silence swallowed the small enclosure. Doing her best to ignore the obvious strain with John, Elizabeth tried to calculate how long they’d been traveling and use that timeline to determine where they could be headed, but with so many freeways in the proximity of the precinct station, the possibilities seemed endless. Sighing in frustration, she pulled her knees to her chest and dropped her forehead to rest against them, closing her eyes against the blackness. Pursuing a different tack, she attempted to concentrate on the driver and catch a stream of his thoughts. While it would be hard to isolate an unfamiliar man that she couldn’t even see, she still had a chance if she could get a feel for him. He was close, just on the other side of the wall in the cab. If she concentrated she…

 _Maybe I could just pin her down and make her talk to me._

Elizabeth’s breath hitched involuntarily as the thought reverberated around her. She hadn’t meant to probe John, but his projection had been so strong and her focus had been too vague.

“I thought you were going to stop messing around in my head, Elizabeth.”

And of course his senses were heightened enough to pick up on her misstep. She should have known better than to agree to spend so much time alone with him on an operation. It was her mistake, really.

“I didn’t – I wasn’t trying to,” she faltered, unable to finish the thought, too busy trying not to consider the implications of his sentiment. It wasn’t fear that made her pulse speed up and hammer in her chest. She just didn’t trust her own actions should he try to make good on his threat. If she let herself, she could still feel the weight of him – the _other_ John, she corrected – pressing her into that thick, warm mattress. She forcibly banished the memory.

“I wouldn’t really do it,” he offered when she said nothing further. “You know that I wouldn’t. Or maybe,” he paused then grunted, eyebrows dipping low on his forehead, “maybe you don’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Do you?” he asked quietly. “Do you know that?”

She could feel the tip of his anger and she knew that he was fighting against his own duality.

“Not intentionally,” she amended, but her denial did little to assuage him. The heat of his frustration continued to nip at her mind. “Look, John. This isn’t the time or place for this discussion. What happened between you and I was a mistake and we should–”

He didn’t let her finish. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you get that look in your eye every time I try to get close to you. Jesus, Elizabeth, you flinch when I touch you. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

“John—”

“You’re afraid of me.”

She kept her gaze trained on the floor. The truth of the matter was that his mutation had nothing to do with why she was distancing herself. God, she didn’t just flinch when he touched her, a whole wave of goose bumps usually swept over whatever limb he happened to accidentally brush against. But right now – bound in the back of a truck headed for who knew where – wasn’t the time to have this conversation. Even so, the middle of an operation was a bad time to have him thinking she was afraid of him. Lifting her head, she drew a deep breath. “John, I know that you would never hurt me.”

She could tell he didn’t believe her. John put faith in actions over words, and lately Elizabeth had been putting more distance between them. It was for the best, she knew, but her actions had consequences. The truck rolled to a stop and she heard two doors slam. She didn’t have much time. “You have to know that I trust you,” she continued worriedly.

He tugged against his restraints. “You don’t,” he insisted darkly as the back door began to clatter open. “You shouldn’t.”

When light from streetlamps flooded the small space, John yanked at his restraints, breaking them apart and scattering pieces of metal across the floor. He growled low in his throat and leapt toward the two men, tackling them both to the asphalt. She didn’t see the third until he’d already fired.

“No!” she cried as she watched John fall. “No!” She pushed herself toward the light… and the world went black.

\--

Firmly locked behind the bars of his cell, he could do nothing to prevent it from happening again. He clenched his jaw and tried to steady his breathing. The fourth set was a pair – a man and a woman. Just like the others, the men in grey coveralls dragged the unconscious bodies into the lab and hefted them awkwardly onto the examining tables. They didn’t even bother to bind them as they used long, thick needles to slip the opaque blue liquid into their veins.

Sedated, they absorbed it, unaware and unflinching. But he could tell by looking at them that they would never passively accept what they were being given. The woman was sinewy and well-defined; he could see she was a fighter. He could imagine it clearly – her kicking and screaming, attempting to jerk out of their hold to escape.

The man would have been forceful, violent because it was necessary. He wouldn’t stop until they were both free – wouldn’t give up until he had nothing left to give.

From his vantage point, he watched the scene play out before him exactly as it shouldn’t. His fingers flexed against the metal and he watched as more helpless innocents fell victim to the experiment.

For once in his life his mutation wasn’t a curse, but only time would tell if he truly wanted the protection.

\--

Elizabeth blinked away the darkness slowly, the pounding in her head making consciousness much less appealing than she would have liked. The ground was cold and hard and she tried to concentrate on the chill of the concrete pressed against her cheek instead of the throbbing in her temples. She braced her hands against the floor and pushed her body up, maneuvering herself into a sitting position. Her cell was tiny, comprised of three solid walls and a barred metal door. When she peered through the bars the vibrations in her head were momentarily swallowed by the thrumming of her heart.

The room was fairly dark, the only light coming from a few small windows high on the ceiling. She would have guessed she’d been unconscious for at least a couple of hours, but the moon was still high over the city. In the middle of the room were two large examining tables, trays full of medical equipment and a couple of empty gurneys. It looked to be some kind of make-shift medical facility, but there didn’t appear to be much concern for hygiene, and the restraints placed at various locations around the room made it a little more intimidating than her regular doctor’s office.

What drew her attention, however, were the two small cells on the far side. One held a man who appeared to be in his thirties, uninjured and positioned somewhat uncomfortably, his head full of short brown hair resting awkwardly atop his folded arms. The other cell was empty – save what looked to be dried blood splashed prominently across both walls and the floor.

She saw no trace of John.

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to pinpoint his conscious, to connect with him over the cacophony of sounds that still echoed in her skull. She concentrated all of her energy, but she couldn’t hear, couldn’t sense anything. The headache was so strong, so overwhelming; she was unable to focus long enough to make a connection.

It had to be the headache, she told herself. She wouldn’t yet consider the possibility that he was gone.

“You’re awake.” Her head shot up and her eyes snapped open, and she realized that an unfamiliar man was now standing in front of her cell. In her distraction, she hadn’t seen or felt him approach.

He was older, mostly balding, with small tufts of white hair that spilled in all directions and skin that hung heavily on his bones. She struggled to catch a better glimpse of his face through the shadows as he approached.

“How do you feel?” he asked, and she couldn’t help but wince. Even the slightest sound made her head throb mercilessly.

She started to respond but had difficulty managing words. When she cleared her throat and tried again, her voice was rough and scratchy. “Like I’ve been drugged.” She shook her head to try to clear it and then glared up at him. “Imagine that.”

“Yes,” he mused, softly, “imagine that.” He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over her appraisingly. “Are you experiencing any discomfort? Headache? Nausea?” When she didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed and he continued to examine her critically. “You will thank me, my dear. I know you will.”

Appearing satisfied by what he saw, he approached the door and smiled. “You are very lucky. The procedure does not come without risks. Very few have made it even this far.” He took another step closer, bringing himself to the threshold of her cell. His smile faded from his eyes but remained on his lips. “Consider that things are currently in your favor – and it only improves from here.”

Biting down on her anger, she took a deep breath and tried again to soothe the pounding while she concentrated on the man. She could read a good deal of what he was thinking from his expression and his words, but if she could just get a thread of his thoughts she would be able to find out more, possibly even what had happened to John.

He shook his head almost sadly as he watched her. “You will grow accustomed to it.”

Instead of explaining, he turned and began to walk away. “To what?” she asked, goose bumps pricking along the back of her neck.

“You lived a long life before your defects,” he said over his shoulder, and then drifted down the hall and disappeared from her line of sight.

“Wait!” Elizabeth called after him, desperation building as she reached for the bars of her door, wrapping her hands around them. “What are you talking about?” His footsteps grew faint in the distance and a door slammed.

She let out a frustrated curse and tipped her head forward, resting a moment before she gave in to her anger and jerked against the lock with all her strength. When it didn’t budge she slammed her palm into the wall and then let her body slump gracelessly back to the floor. She massaged her temples and tried to clear her mind again, but couldn’t seem to focus on anything. “Damn it!”

“You don’t really get used to it,” a voice countered softly.

Her eyes snapped open and she found the man in the cell was now staring at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, anger fueled by her growing sense of dread. She hated riddles, hated questions, hated that she was locked up in a damn cell and couldn’t find John. “What is it that I won’t get used to?”

The man sat up and considered her. She saw flecks of warmth melting his icy blue eyes, and when he spoke his voice was quiet but strong. “I don’t know from personal experience – yet,” he amended, “but from what I’ve seen, you don’t get used to being without your mutations. Your ‘defects’ as Zaddik likes to call them.”

“What do you mean, ‘without’ them?”

He nodded toward her. “You don’t have them anymore.”

The statement hit Elizabeth with a force she wasn’t prepared for. With increasing panic she replayed the last few minutes – her unsuccessful attempts to locate John, the thoughts she’d been unable to isolate. Since she’d woken up she hadn’t been able to hear anything. She had assumed it was a result of the headache, but...

Unwilling to believe it, she scanned her surroundings. She focused on a beaker resting on one of the examining tables. Closing her eyes, she envisioned it levitating, hovering inches above the surface. She snapped her eyes open and stared. It hadn’t moved an inch.

Jesus. He was right.

She scrubbed her hands through her hair and down the nape of her neck, too overwhelmed and completely unable to come to terms with what was happening – what _had_ happened – to her. As her fingers skimmed the surface of her skin she cursed again when she realized her powers weren’t the only thing she was missing.

They had also removed the tracker.

\--

“What do you mean, ‘it went out’?” Cameron fumed at Rodney, pacing back and forth in the small, cramped room. He was trying to exorcise some of his anger, but it wasn’t working with Ronon and Teyla looming silently at the door and McKay hunched over one of his computers, typing furiously. He could only take three strides before he reached Ronon’s broad chest and had to turn back around. He slammed his fist into the wall. “This damn place is too small! And Ronon is too damn big! I can’t pace – I can’t think!”

“Luckily, we don’t rely on your brains,” Rodney bit back without lifting his head.

Cameron ignored the dig. “How did it go out, McKay? How did you lose them?”

“I didn’t lose them. The transmitter stopped transmitting. It went out on their end.”

“Fantastic.” He finally slowed his pacing but couldn’t seem to stay completely idle. He plunged a hand through his hair and rocked on the balls of his feet. “So, what do we do now?”

Rodney spoke distractedly, still focused on his computer. “I’m retracing their steps and trying to pinpoint their last known location. Once we isolate that, I can use their trajectory to project where they may have been headed, but it will be mostly conjecture.”

Cam sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fists. He shouldn’t have let Elizabeth go alone with Sheppard. That man was a magnet for trouble and a loose canon. And he was pretty sure they were sleeping together – which had absolutely nothing to do with anything, but it set him off for some reason, and he figured while he was listing the guy’s faults he might as well include it.

“Or,” Ronon spoke up, his gruff voice resonating off the walls of the small cabin, “we could get sent to jail.”

“Yes, yes,” Rodney snapped. “What a novel idea. Why didn’t we… oh _wait_ we tried that already.”

Cameron watched as Ronon and Teyla shared a knowing look.

“Yes,” Teyla began calmly, “but you did not try it with us.”

\--

Elizabeth took a steadying breath and let the thick, damp air coat her lungs. Questions and emotions vied for her attention, but she couldn’t seem to identify anything remotely resembling an answer. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes and watched visions of her life flash through her mind at incomprehensible speeds. Adjusting to her powers had been the most difficult transition she’d ever experienced. It had taken years, put her through seemingly endless agony, and even now she didn’t feel like she had complete control. Because of that, a large part of her had had always considered her powers more of a curse than a blessing.

But the quiet in her head now made her feel… hollow, incomplete. It was like someone had flipped a switch and everything had faded from vibrant colors to a muted shade of grey, and that loss caused a dull and persistent pain that ran far deeper than the tremors of her current headache.

Since that bright spring day when she took her first step outside the mental hospital, Elizabeth had never honestly believed that she would live a moment without them. When it came right down to it, those mutations were a part of who she’d become. It had taken her years to recognize their potential and the final nail had been a revealing trip to the future. It was there that she realized the costs of whatever setbacks her powers caused were more than worth it in the end.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in frustration. She needed to stop reacting emotionally. She needed to approach this situation logically, like the trained agent she was – she’d always been. Start at the beginning. Figure out what the hell was going on.

A voice from the other side of the room broke though her thoughts. “His name is Zaddik,” the other captive informed her. “He’s a scientist of some sort, geneticist most likely. He’s in the experimental stages of a ‘cure’ for the mutations that resulted from the Seabrook spill.”

“Is it…” she began softly. She cleared her throat. “Is it permanent?”

“From what I’ve seen, not yet. But then again, you might be the breakthrough he’s been looking for.”

She didn’t want to think about the darkness in his voice when he’d said that, or what it implied. Instead, she focused on the man. “How long have you been here?”

“A little over a week, I think. I’m not exactly sure.”

“And you said you don’t know what it’s like to be without your mutation. Why hasn’t he used you in his experiment?” she asked, allowing a hint of wariness to creep into her words.

“They haven’t been able to inject me,” he answered simply.

She wanted to ask, had gotten used to being able to find out answers, but she recognized that right now this man was her only source of information. “Do you know why they’re still holding you?” she questioned instead.

He grunted and looked away. Just before she gave up on getting a response, he said, “They don’t plan to stop trying, I guess.”

She nodded her understanding, afraid she knew too well what that meant for him. “Do you know where they take the others?” She tried not to let her eyes wander to the bloodied cell beside him.

“I would imagine the ones that survive,” she flinched at his words, “are taken somewhere else in the compound. If the procedure is a success there’s no reason to confine them.”

“He’s not afraid they’ll escape?”

The man brought his gaze to hers and held it. “The only things he’s afraid of are mutants. He doesn’t see them as threats without their abilities.”

Elizabeth swallowed back the lump in her throat. She bit her lower lip and looked away before asking what she’d wanted to ask all along. “I came in with a man, do you –”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He hesitated and then added, “I’m sorry.”

She tried not to let it distract her, not to let the tears that were pricking at her eyes blur her focus on the mission, on how to escape. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Why am I still being held here if the rest are taken elsewhere once they’re no longer a threat?”

“Your first injection didn’t take,” he explained. “You came to and were,” his eyes seemed to sparkle at the memory, “making a mess of things, so to speak.”

“But I don’t have them anymore, why is he still keeping me?”

He shrugged. “I’d guess that’s what he just came in to check. The goons will probably take you away any minute now.”

“And you’ll stay here for another attempt.”

He nodded.

“You’re awfully sanguine about this,” Elizabeth observed.

“I wasn’t the first few times.” He offered a slight smile. “I’m trying a new approach.”

The sound of a door opening echoed from somewhere across the room and two pairs of footsteps heralded the approach of large men dressed in grey. She met her fellow captive’s eyes briefly before her cell door opened and four strong hands dragged her from the room.

\--

It was dark when Teyla phased through the back wall and into Ronon’s cell. He didn’t turn, but she could tell he was aware of her presence.

“You did not have to assault that officer,” she admonished softly.

“I was making a scene.”

“There are other ways.”

He twisted to face her, sneer barely visible in the thread of light that filtered in from the lone window. “He deserved it.”

“Not all law enforcement is against us, Ronon. We must remember that our battle is with the individual.”

He turned back toward the bars. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “They don’t see us as equals. If they can’t see more than our mutations, they should be shoved through a wall.”

She brushed a hand against his arm before dropping onto the mattress beside him. “There are good people out there, Ronon. I think we have met some of them.”

“You can have your faith, Teyla, but don’t force it on me.”

Teyla took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ronon had changed much in the past few years, and she did not find him entirely at fault. It took much of her strength to resist the temptation to give in to anger. The tide of social acceptance was against them, and its continuing pressure forced her into a corner that she couldn’t phase through. Even so, it was something she would fight until she had no strength left to do so.

When she heard a door open, she pulled herself to her feet and stood beside Ronon. Together they stepped up to the bars.

\--

The men unlocked a room toward the end of a long hallway and tossed Elizabeth inside, slamming the door closed behind her. She heard the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place as she pulled herself to her feet.

“A roommate? And I thought they gave me two beds so I wouldn’t have to change the sheets as often.”

“John?” Elizabeth turned quickly and found him perched on the edge of a mattress, his head hung low and his elbows propped against his knees. When he heard her he looked up and a wave of relief washed over her. She took an involuntary step toward him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded slowly. “Are you?”

“They’ve taken away our mutations somehow,” she responded in lieu of an answer. “John, I can’t read anyone’s thoughts, I can’t –”

He nodded again, unsurprised. “I know.” He winced and brought a hand to his ribcage as he sat up. “Figured that one out the hard way.”

Elizabeth eased onto the bed beside him. “He’s killing people, killing mutants.” When he remained silent, she continued softly, “There was so much blood.” She twisted her fingers together in her lap, eyes downcast. “I was so sure it was yours.”

John set his lips in a thin line and avoided looking at her. “He’s not trying to kill people,” he said after a moment.

She started slightly at his tone. He sounded resigned, almost accepting. “But he is,” she countered. “We’re the first batch to survive.”

John stood and walked to the barred window. As he stared into the night sky he scrubbed a hand over his face and then folded his arms across his chest protectively. “There are people who would support his actions, Elizabeth, people who would die for a chance at what he’s offering.”

She inhaled sharply. “But they didn’t get the choice, John.” She twisted to better see him in the darkness. “We didn’t get the choice,” she emphasized.

His response was so soft she almost didn’t hear it. “Maybe.” He looked down at his boots. “Maybe, I would have chosen it anyway.”

She took a moment to absorb his words, not knowing how to respond.

He turned toward her and dropped his arms, flexing his hands at his sides. “People are afraid of me, Elizabeth.”

“That’s not –”

“It is. You don’t know what that’s like.”

“Yes I do,” she argued, her defenses rising at the implication that he was the only one who knew what it felt like to be judged. “People are afraid of me too, John. They think I’m going to invade their minds and expose their personal thoughts.”

“It’s not the same,” he insisted. His gaze slipped past her and focused on the door to their small room. “When they look at me they’re afraid for their life. And they’re right to feel that way.”

She followed his eyes and imagined the world outside – the people who took things at face value, who never gave those who were different a chance. “No, they’re wrong. It’s not a curse,” she said softly, almost to herself. It couldn’t be a curse. She’d spent so much of her life trying to make her ability a part of her, and now… “It’s who we are, John.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t always. We adapted.”

She glanced up and watched his eyes avoid hers and fasten again on the toe of his boot. “Yes, we did,” she paused before continuing, “and we can’t go back.”

He stiffened and didn’t back down. “Think about it, Elizabeth.” He paced away from the window. “Think about what it would be like if we were normal, if we were just ordinary people.”

She couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine. “Do you honestly believe I’ve never considered it?” She pushed herself off the bed and stood to face him. “I think about it every single night. I imagine what it would have been like if this had never happened. I imagine myself living with only my own thoughts. It’s a beautiful picture – it’s blue skies and picket fences… and it’s not my life.” She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before leveling her gaze on John. “We’re more than that. We have the potential to do so much more, and here you are wishing it away.”

John scowled and his hands fisted. “Yeah, I am wishing it away. I’m wishing away the scales and the claws and the constant need to do things that a rational human being would never allow himself to do.”

“But it’s a part of you,” she insisted. She reached out toward him and took half a step, but pulled her hand back when he shifted away from her.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he started, his voice flat. His frown was a dark shadow across his face. “I don’t want it to be.”

“John…” He blew out a breath and turned from her, but she moved to intercept him. “When people give you the chance and when they know what’s inside of you, they will accept you.”

“I don’t want to have to qualify everything,” he countered. “I want to be normal.” He paused, tilting his head up to meet her eyes as he forced the words from his lips. “And you want me to be that, too.”

She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to calm the surge of emotion the soft accusation inspired in her. “No-”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed wearily, “I at least deserve the truth.”

“The truth?”

“You’ve been able to read my mind this whole time, but you’ve never told me what’s in yours. I can only guess at why you’ve pulled away, but it’s not that much of a stretch.” He raked his hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. “I don’t blame you for that.”

“For what?” she asked on a careful breath.

“You’re afraid of me – of the part of me that we both know I can’t control.”

She sucked air in and had to remind herself to exhale. “Me? This whole – this is about me?” This time when she reached for him she wrapped her hand around his wrist. “John, I know what’s inside of you and I know –”

He tugged his hand away. “You know you should keep your distance from me. I’m a _monster_ , Elizabeth, and you know that better than anyone.”

“That’s not true,” she argued with more vehemence than she intended. She closed her eyes and thought of John. Maybe she did know him better than anyone else, better even than he knew himself. “You have more humanity than –”

He waved her off before she could finish. “I don’t need to hear one of your morale boosting speeches, Elizabeth. At this point I’ve heard the words so often that I could probably recite them by rote anyway. But I also know that whenever I try to have a real conversation about us, you can’t even look me in the eye.”

He was jumping to the wrong conclusions again. She paused and searched his face. “John, what I feel about you and me, it has nothing to do with being afraid of you. It’s just that,” she bit her lip before continuing, “you and I can’t be together.”

“I think it’s fair to say that I got that.”

“Yeah,” her voice was quiet, “I know.” She shifted slightly and focused on her hands. “The thing is – the reason I can’t…” She blew out a soft breath that fluttered the ends of her hair. She rolled her shoulders and forced herself to look at him. “We started so fast, without thinking. And there’s –” she cut herself off when an unfamiliar kind of pain stabbed into her. Reflexively, she wrapped an arm around her abdomen and buckled at the waist.

Startled and instantly concerned, John was at her side immediately. “Are you okay?” His hand reached out to grab her arm.

After a few seconds, the sensation faded to a more manageable level and she nodded without speaking. He loosened his hold but didn’t let go. Before he could press her further, she heard the bolt slide on the door.

\--

Cameron slapped his palm against his forehead. “Oh, come on.”

“You’re working with limited brain cells already,” Rodney said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I wouldn’t rock the boat.”

“How is this possible?” Carson scratched his head. “I thought it was supposed to go differently this time.”

Rodney shook his finger at the doctor. “You’re the one who wouldn’t let me put another tracker in.”

“Aye, I thought fifteen was a wee bit excessive.”

“He has a big head of hair! We could have fit twenty more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cameron cut him off. “Fifteen or twenty five, they’re all out. We have to figure out another way to locate them.” He turned to Rodney. “How do we do it?”

“Me? Of course you turn to me.” He pushed out of his chair with a huff. “What do you expect me to do? I manipulate liquid; I’m not a scent hound!”

Cam raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Carson. “Do we know anyone with that power?”

Carson shrugged. “I could check the database.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Rodney groused, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Give me a minute and let me see what I can come up with.”

\--

The door cracked open slowly and an arm extended into the room, dumping a tray of food to the ground. John watched as the hand retreated back into the hallway and then returned with a second tray. Before the second meal reached the floor he had pivoted and was running full force at the door, dipping his shoulder and slamming into the hard metal. The man in the hallway cried out in pain and the tray clattered to the ground. John jerked the door open and grabbed the guard by his shirt, yanking him into the room and slamming the door closed behind them. As he cradled his broken arm, John grabbed his collar, twisted and pulled. When the choke hold increased pressure the man gave a wide-eyed look and then collapsed, unconscious.

While John pulled the pistol from his holster, Elizabeth stepped forward and bent down to search his pockets. She retrieved a .22 from his ankle for herself, tossed John a spare magazine for the Glock, and paused to grab a ring of keys as John opened the door and surveyed the hall. He waited a moment, listening and watching, and then signaled for Elizabeth to move up beside him.

“We’re clear for the moment,” he whispered. “I think our best chance is to the right. There’s probably an exit at the end of this hall. If we can get out we can get help.”

She closed her eyes and brought her hand to her forehead, shaking her head slightly. “Left.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Back to the lab? Did you want to take another hit?”

“There’s a man there. We can’t leave people here.”

John didn’t make a habit of leaving people behind, and he could tell by Elizabeth’s face that it would be pointless to argue with her anyway. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked worriedly.

She nodded and managed a small smile.

Looking her over one more time, John swung open the door and stepped into the hallway, shifting so that Elizabeth was behind him. As they made their way quietly down the corridor they checked each room for hostages.

\--

When he saw her from his cell, he tensed. She was dark-skinned and beautiful, and they were dragging her limp body across the floor to that damn metal table. While two of the guards shoved her onto the surface, three more carried in a large, muscular man. Once they were settled, a man in a white lab coat appeared holding one syringe in each hand.

Though he knew what would happen to her, he found he couldn’t watch. Not again. It was too much. Too much destruction, too much pain and none of it, _none_ of it had touched him.

That was going to end now. He would find a way to stop this.

\--

John ducked in beside her and pressed his back against the wall. “Three guards up ahead. All armed.”

Elizabeth nodded, wrapping her fingers more tightly around the .22. She took a shuddering breath. “Ready.”

John frowned, eyeing her skeptically. Something was off. Something in her voice. “Are you sure?”

She nodded again but avoided his eyes. “Let’s just do this.”

Casting her one last, nervous glance, John pushed off the wall and swung around, placing a bullet into the chest of the leftmost guard. The second man hit the ground seconds after the first, sent sprawling by a shot from Elizabeth. The third was able to squeeze off a round, and both John and Elizabeth were forced to duck back, using the wall for cover. Listening to the last guard approach, John braced himself. When the man neared, he whipped low around the corner and fired two shots – the first went wide but the second knocked him off his feet.

John crossed to the nearest guard and checked his pulse. “Come on, Elizabeth,” he urged distractedly as he grabbed the extra pistol and shoved it into his waistband. When he heard no response he looked up. “Elizabeth?”

John’s heart lurched when he saw Elizabeth stagger a step, attempt to brace herself against the wall, and then fall forward, landing on her hands and knees with a muffled cry of pain. By the time he got to her she was shaking violently.

“Elizabeth?” He dropped to his knees beside her and brought a hand to her forehead, clammy and ghostly pale. He scanned her body for signs of injury but found nothing he could identify as causing this type of pain. “Elizabeth, what the hell happened?”

She turned toward him and grimaced. “John, go.”

“Elizabeth –”

“Something’s happening to me. It’s – go, please.”

“I’m not leaving you.” When she didn’t respond he tightened his grip on her arm. “Elizabeth!”

She sucked in a shaky gulp of air and twisted slightly to look up at him. “Go,” she ordered weakly. “Just get out and get help.”

“No!”

“Don’t argue with me. There isn’t enough time!”

When she gave into a fit of coughing, the first stirrings of panic tightened his chest, but he shoved it down, forcing himself to concentrate on getting her to safety. When he had her clear of this madhouse he could try to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. “I’m not leaving you,” he repeated firmly. “Come on, we need to keep going.”

The sound of shouting down the hall made him flinch, but he didn’t look away from Elizabeth as he grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to her feet.

He headed straight for the nearest door, kicked it cleanly off its hinges and dragged Elizabeth through. He made it past the frame just as the first shots were fired. Her stride was labored, but John stayed with her step for step.

“I’m slowing you down. You’re going to get caught.”

“Well then, we’ll be in this together.” She shot him an annoyed look, but it didn’t have her usual fire and only caused him to worry more. “I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me.”

A blast of gunfire announced the arrival of more guards, but John couldn’t focus on them as Elizabeth staggered again, swayed even more, and then collapsed in his arms.

\--

When the lab technician entered the room and crossed to the cabinet that held a supply of syringes, he knew it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to let pass. Hunching over, he started to cough.

The tech craned her neck to peer at him as she reached up and pulled down a small container. “You okay over there?” she asked.

“I can’t –” he coughed again, doubling over and clutching at his throat, “can’t breathe.”

The tech frowned in concern and cautiously made her way to the door of the cell. Her eyes flit over the room and she shot one long look toward the door, but then shook herself and stepped warily up to the bars.

The second she was within reach, he lunged forward and yanked away the data pad clutched loosely in the woman’s grasp. Upon contact, energy from the device surged in his veins and the power within him swelled. Draining the small computer, he focused all of his energy into one short burst and aimed directly at the lock on his cell. The metal shattered like broken glass and he ripped open the barred door.

“Get in,” he instructed sharply, pointing to the adjacent cell. Eyes wide with fear, she obliged quickly and sat silently as the door slammed shut.

He stepped into the middle of the room and surveyed the area, locating everything that could be used as an energy source. He grabbed a radio, then a heart monitor and a laptop, holding onto each of them and breathing them in. He drained everything he could find, boosting himself with every touch. Then he headed for the door.

There was someone he needed to save.

\--

Ronon growled and slammed his fist into the wall. The plaster cracked but held firm.

Teyla lifted an eyebrow. “I would think that hurt.”

“It did,” he acknowledged, cupping his fist in his other hand.

“Then perhaps you should stop striking things,” she proposed. Ronon growled again and Teyla sighed softly. “You have many times spoken of your wish that the accident had never happened – that the mutations had never occurred. This could be the realization of that desire.”

“Except for the part about us getting locked up.”

“Yes,” she agreed solemnly, “except for that.”

“I want to crush his skull with my bare hands.”

Teyla rose and stepped toward her cousin, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “Revenge is not our goal at the moment, Ronon. We must find Agents Weir and Sheppard. This was to be a reconnaissance mission and it has now become a rescue. There were never plans to take action.”

“Plans change,” he grunted, fists clenching.

She nodded. Plans had changed, but not in the way Ronon hoped. She gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll return when I can.”

He nodded and moved to the window.

She walked to the door and looked through the small pane of glass, checking to make sure there were no guards nearby. “When I find keys I will retrieve you,” she informed him before walking through the closed door and into the hall.

\--

Elizabeth came to with a massive headache – again. The nausea was gone and the blackness that had edged out her vision had receded, but she still felt like hell.

She shifted and light from the lone bulb on the ceiling shone into her eyes. She squeezed them more tightly shut and lifted her hand to shield them, but it didn’t do much good. Her body felt heavy and numb. Cautiously, she tried to stretch her arms and legs. They moved slightly in a tingly kind of way. Heaving a sigh, she pried herself into a sitting position and worked at blinking away the headache and taking in her surroundings. The room was similar to the one she had been housed in previously, with one notable exception: there was no John.

She let her eyes drift closed again and took a deep breath, trying to piece together a clear memory of what had happened, but each image she could surface was fuzzy and intangible. She remembered their escape, working their way back to the lab; she remembered becoming more and more ill – vividly remembered the pain that tore through her… but after that there was nothing. No memory of how she had gotten to where she was and no idea what had happened to John.


	2. Chapter 2

Making his way through the complex had been relatively easy. He’d run into a few guards that were simple enough to deal with, but beyond a handful of sentries the halls had been clear. It wasn’t until he came across the bodies that he realized something had already taken place in the compound.

He paused briefly outside a windowed door to check the occupants, but it wasn’t her. Instead, he found the dark-haired man who had been dragged in with the woman he’d spoken to earlier. He sighed and surveyed the hallway again for guards, fighting down the desire to keep moving until he found who he was looking for. Maybe then he could return and … No. Even as he understood that rescuing victims wasn’t realistic – more so when he knew that they’d already been injected – he couldn’t just leave him here.

The sound of a door opening echoed in the corridor and the decision was made for him. He used the keys he’d stolen to unlock the door and slip quickly inside.

The growl caught him off guard.

“What have you done with Elizabeth?”

He stepped back closer to the wall and put his hands up defensively to show he wasn’t a threat. “I’m not one of them.”

The man’s jaw clenched and his eyes darkened dangerously as he continued his approach. “Why should I believe you?”

Damn it. He needed to be out there looking for her, not stuck in here with some overly-aggressive man who looked like he’d tear apart anyone who might know something about this Elizabeth. He’d see how far logic got him and then move on. “Well, for starters, I don’t have a weapon, I don’t have a radio, and I’m whispering. That should give you some clue,” he hissed. When he received no response he exhaled in frustration. “Listen, we don’t have time for this, do you want my help getting out of here or not?”

“Not without her.”

He was exasperated now. “How about this – I’m leaving. I’ll leave the door open for you and you can do what you want. Follow me or not, your choice.”

That seemed to clinch it for the man. He stepped forward and offered, “Not the best rescue I could have hoped for but, under the circumstances, I’ll take it.” He paused and then continued, “I’m John.”

He gave John a cursory glance before turning back to the door and cracking it open to listen for activity in the hall. “Let’s just see how this escape goes. Then we’ll decide if we’re going to be friends.”

John eased into the wall beside him. “Well, I’m going to need a name for you.” At his skeptical look, John shrugged. “How else am I going to know who to call out to when you need to duck bad guys’ bullets?” John eyed him for a long moment. “You look like a Mark.”

He shot John a look and focused again on the hallway. “I’m guessing by the blood smears on your clothing that you were the one that took down all of those guards I found throughout the building.”

“Not enough of them,” John answered gruffly, his anger rising again. A moment later he suddenly grimaced and clutched at his side. He dropped to a knee and his eyes pinched closed as he winced in pain.

“Are you all right?” He reached out, but John jerked away and groaned.

“Fine,” John grunted, pulling himself back to his feet shakily. “I’m fine. I need to get Elizabeth and get out of here.”

He frowned. The drug was clearly working its way through John’s system. John had made it further than most, but each death he’d witnessed had clearly been excruciating. He guessed that from here the pain would only get worse. But there was no use dwelling on it; there was nothing he could do. “Did you see any others?” he asked instead.

“No.”

“Well, then, that narrows down our search radius.”

John tilted his head and grimaced again. “Places we haven’t been?”

“It’s a start.”

John crossed in front of him and eased into the corridor. “I’ve got a better idea.”

\--

Rodney twisted the monitor so that it was facing Cameron. “This,” he said, pointing to the image of a building, “is the rear entrance of the station.” The image was grainy and dark, the sole source of light a fixture above the door. “This is the footage from the security camera of the office building across the street.” He pressed play and a few seconds later the back door opened. Three figures exited the building, two restraining a man and dragging him across the lot.

“Is that –”

“Sheppard,” Rodney confirmed as the three individuals disappeared past the bottom of the screen. McKay sped the tape up until the door opened again revealing much of the same picture with one exception.

“Elizabeth.” The figures crossed out of the camera’s field of vision. “Where did they take them?” Cameron demanded.

“Hold on,” Rodney instructed.

Cam clenched his fists. “McKay,” he warned.

“Just hold on!” Rodney snapped, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Here.”

Cameron leaned closer to get a better look at the area where Rodney was pointing. In the very corner of the screen was a large, white… “Is that a truck?”

Rodney nodded. “And here,” he typed a command into the computer and the picture on the monitor blinked out and was replaced by an overhead view of a street, “is the traffic camera from the intersection just west of the station’s back lot.”

Cameron watched as a white freight truck crossed the street. Rodney paused the footage and hit two keystrokes to magnify the license plate.

“And?” Cameron prompted.

“This truck,” he tapped his finger on the screen, “is registered to Daimos Corporation, a large research facility in Burbank.”

The look on Rodney’s face was anything but reassuring and Cameron hesitated to ask the next question. “What do they research?”

Rodney shot a nervous look to Carson, who answered for him. “The lead scientist and founder of the corporation is Doctor Abraham Zaddik. He’s published in numerous journals in the field of genetics, DNA mapping and other similar areas of research. What’s disturbing, however, are his unpublished works.” Carson dropped his head for a moment before looking back up at Cam. “I don’t have much of an ear to the underground scene these days, but I have heard murmurs, rumors really…” He trailed off and Cameron’s anxiety increased exponentially.

“What?”

Carson let a tense exhale slip through his lips. “His daughter, Ellia, was affected by the Seabrook spill.”

“A lot of people were.”

Carson nodded. “Her mutation was…the effects were uncontrollable. She became rabid, utterly inhuman.”

He was speaking slowly, articulately, and Cameron barely resisted the urge to tap his foot and waive his hand to get the doctor to get to the point. “Yeah, okay. So?”

“He tried to develop an antidote to nullify the mutant gene.”

“Tried?”

“He failed. It was fatal.”

“The girl died,” Cameron supplied.

“No,” Beckett corrected, “she didn’t. He had enough foresight to test the concoction on other participants before injecting the lass. The FDA found out about his tests and shut down the lab.”

“What does that mean for us? What does he want with these mutants now?”

“Our best guess,” Rodney spoke up, clearing his throat awkwardly, “is that he’s still working on the antidote. He’s still trying to save his daughter.”

“So Elizabeth and Sheppard, and now Teyla and Ronon…” he trailed off, anger rising. “They’re part of his experiment.”

\--

After glancing though the window pane, John paused only a moment before reaching for the door. He hadn’t yet grasped the knob when he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“We’re not leaving without her.”

“I know,” John answered immediately, confused by the stranger’s fervor for saving Elizabeth. “I don’t plan on leaving.”

Mark raised a pointed eyebrow. “Why are you heading through the exit then?”

“Get me a chair or something,” he instructed impatiently, and then yanked open the door.

A biting chill hit John as he stepped outside, causing him to shiver. Beside the door, a lone guard took a long drag on a cigarette, either oblivious or uncaring of John’s appearance. John stepped up beside him and leaned against the wall, tilting his head to the moon to share the man’s view.

“Nice night,” John offered.

The man scoffed. “Life’s a fucking bowl of cherries.”

“Can I bum one?” John asked, pointing to the cigarette. The guard grudgingly reached for his inside jacket pocket. As soon as his head was turned, John’s elbow struck him in face, knocking him to the ground. A boot to the head rendered him unconscious. John bent down and picked up the guard’s fallen cigarette.

Just as John reentered the hallway, Mark returned with a desk chair. John grabbed the chair, the metal legs screeching as he slid it into the middle of the hall. With a grunt, he stepped up onto the seat and raised the lit cigarette to the smoke detector on the ceiling.

“This is your brilliant plan?” Mark snapped, clearly unimpressed.

“It wasn’t before,” he answered. “Is now.” He opted not to mention the fact that he hadn’t actually had a plan before. Those were the inconsequential details with which he didn’t have time to bother. “I saw it in a movie once,” he added.

Mark bit off a sigh, dividing his attention between warily eying John and scanning the hall for guards. “Just don’t take off your shoes, Cowboy,” he said under his breath.

“Plus,” John added with a shrug, “you never know when you’ll need large quantities of water.”

After a soft hiss, the sprinklers kicked in, followed shortly by the blare of the smoke alarm. John ran a hand over his face and wiped at the trails of water as they soaked into his skin. He jumped off the chair and shook his head, spraying drops in an ineffectual attempt to prevent himself from becoming drenched. Speaking of drenched… he squinted at Mark. Water was coming down like rain in a thundershower and the man was bone dry.

“What the hell?” he faltered. “Why aren’t you wet?”

Mark winced a little and admitted, “Energy shield.”

“I’m sorry?” John erupted, blinking water from his eyes. “You have a force field and you didn’t tell me?”

“You needed to know before?” He waved a hand, indicating the sprinklers and shouting over the alarm. “You had a plan!”

“A plan that would have been facilitated by a force field!”

“Well, now you know.”

John looked him over as he ran a hand through his sopping wet hair. “Does it get any bigger than that?”

“It can, if I have an energy source to draw from.” Mark shrugged. “This is sort of like a default setting.”

“Always on?”

“Yes.”

John was silent for a moment. “How do you eat?”

Mark huffed. John couldn’t tell if it was because he was defensive or distracted. Maybe both. “If I concentrate hard enough I can shut it off briefly.”

John could think of a few times that concentrating on disabling a force field would be difficult. “Kind of lonely?”

“Yeah,” Mark rolled his eyes, “my therapist and I are already dealing with it. Can we continue the plan now?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything else you need to tell me?” The water had soaked his shoes and was through to his socks, and the whole thing was beginning to make John cranky. “Any more mutant powers? Flight? Teleportation? Can you converse with dolphins?”

Mark grunted before stepping past John and onto the chair. He reached up and smashed a light fixture with a shielded fist and then grabbed the exposed socket. When he extended his left hand a blue burst of energy projected from his palm and slammed into the wall with a boom, ripping clear to the other side.

John snapped his jaw shut when he realized his mouth was open. “Damn.”

\--

Teyla turned the key in the lock, but the door swung in before she reached for it.

“Took you long enough,” Ronon rumbled over the din of the pulsing alarm. He stepped into the hall and shook his head at the water.

“I stopped to attend a matinee,” she answered briskly, closing the door behind him and moving quickly down the corridor.

“Sarcasm?” Ronon asked, edging along the wall behind her. “You’ve been spending too much time with Mitchell and Sheppard.”

Teyla ignored the comment and paused when she reached another doorway. “I have come across a few guards, one of them dead.”

“Sheppard?”

She nodded. “I suspect he and Elizabeth have somehow become free and are working their way out of the building. They may have been the cause of the fire alarm as well.”

An explosion sounded nearby and Ronon caught Teyla’s eye. “Probably the cause of that, too,” he guessed.

Teyla nodded again, reaching to the small of her back and pulling a gun from her waistband. If she strained, she could hear the faint sound of voices over the bleating alarm and the hiss of the sprinklers. “Take this,” she instructed, handing him the pistol. She’d only found one weapon on her quest for keys, but she had never had much need for guns. Without his strength, however, Ronon would be at a disadvantage.

The voices became louder as they drew near the junction of the next hallway. Teyla signaled Ronon into a guard position at the corner, and he shot her a look before raising his gun. She shook her head slightly and then stepped out into the corridor.

When she saw him she froze.

In her periphery, she was aware of Ronon easing into the hallway behind her, of Sheppard standing drenched beside him, but all she could focus on was him.

“Evan?” she asked softly, hesitantly. He looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him. His presence with John was a mystery, but even so, just the sight of him sent a warm shiver of anticipation rolling through her. She continued to walk toward him carefully until she reached the boundary of his personal space, hovering warily along the edge of it.

John frowned and jerked his thumb at the man beside him. “Mark?”

“Teyla.” Evan reached a hand toward her and then appeared to think better of it, aborting the movement and shifting awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “They were unable to inject me. The needle phased…” she trailed off and watched as relief washed over his features. Not only was he not surprised to see her, he seemed to know something of why she was here. “You,” she waved an ineffectual hand in his direction, “are you well?”

“I’m fine.”

She opened her mouth to respond with something equally ineloquent when a loud throat clearing startled her.

“Teyla?” John repeated, looking between the pair. “You two know each other? And his name is Evan?”

“Lorne,” he answered, not lifting his eyes from her face.

John studied him a moment and then acquiesced. “Okay, I can only deal with one thing at a time.” He looked to Ronon. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

Ronon shrugged noncommittally. “Rescuing you.”

“Well, you’re doing a bang up job.” John suddenly winced and gripped his chest. After a moment, he spoke tightly, “Where’s Elizabeth?”

Teyla shook her head, bringing herself back into focus. “We have not seen her.” She started to approach John when he let out a low groan. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine.”

“The injection,” Lorne explained. “The side effects are beginning to kick in.” His eyes swept over John. “I don’t imagine he’s got a lot of time,” he added solemnly.

John braced a hand against his ribs as shouts from somewhere nearby caused them all to turn. A moment later the water trickled off and the alarm came to a merciful stop.

“The fire department must be here.”

“Good,” John said tightly. He straightened and started toward them. “Ronon, get in contact with the authorities and find a way to get a hold of Mitchell and McKay. I’m going to find Elizabeth.” He turned toward Lorne. “Teyla and new guy, you figure out where they’re keeping the drug. We’ll need to take a sample to Carson.”

Teyla reached for John’s arm when he swayed dangerously. “You’re in no condition to rescue anyone, John. Ronon will find her.”

“She was injected twice,” Lorne said, looking at Teyla briefly before letting his shoulders rise and fall helplessly. “There’s a good chance she’s already –”

“No,” John cut him off sharply. “I’m going to find her and I’m going to get her out of here. You worry about your part of the plan or get the hell out. I don’t have time for this.”

Teyla knew that tone of voice and the stubbornness behind it. The man was one of the most obstinate individuals she had ever met, a quality she found in great supply in her current companions. “John,” she said calmly, “Ronon can track her better than you can.”

“How? He doesn’t have his abilities.”

“I’ll do it the old fashion way,” Ronon answered.

Shouts drew nearer and John pressed a hand against the wall and leaned heavily. “All right, fine. Muscles here can come with me.”

Ronon grunted and stepped forward. “You two find the drugs. Once we get Weir, we’ll contact the police.”

Lorne looked like he wanted to protest and Teyla still considered doing the same. John was obviously in pain and if the injection was indeed the cause, Ronon would soon fall ill as well. But they were running out of time. “We will do it,” she agreed finally. “Be safe.”

\--

After the third corridor, John was growing increasingly frustrated. Even worse, the pain was becoming unbearable.

“This place is too big,” he grunted as they rounded another corner. “We’re taking too long.”

John watched as Ronon nodded in agreement, his own face strained. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, and his pallor had taken on a sickly shade of white. “Are you,” John started and then ground his teeth against another pang. “Did you get injected?”

Ronon grunted.

John shook his head and braced himself against the wall, carefully keeping himself upright. “You really need to work on your rescues.”

Ronon spared him a glance. “Thanks for all of the practice.”

John’s laugh was more of a grimace as he steeled himself for the task ahead. He pushed off the wall. “We need to split up.”

Ronon gave him a pointed look, but when John only returned the glare he gave in. “I’ll take the stairs to the next floor,” Ronon volunteered. “You keep going that way.” John nodded weakly, and Ronon hesitated before adding, “We’ll find her, Sheppard.” A moment later he disappeared through the door.

John blinked against the growing haze and continued down the hall. He had to get to Elizabeth. He had to get her out of this. His muscles twitched and tightened, and chills began to rack his body. If Lorne was right and Elizabeth had been injected twice, she was going through much worse than he was. He felt the exertion of each step as he staggered ahead, and a sheen of cold sweat formed on his skin.

At the next room he pressed his face against the small glass pane, but allowed himself no reprieve when he saw it was empty. As he turned again to the narrow hallway, the world tilted dangerously and he shut his eyes, trying to steady himself with a deep breath. Instead, his stomach clenched again and he cried out. He took two more lurching steps before his knees buckled and he crashed to the floor.

\--

Lorne ducked his head and concentrated on looking for the storeroom that housed the drug. If he waivered from that task at all, if he let his focus drift to the woman beside him, he knew he’d say something he would regret. Maybe it was cowardly. Maybe it was an attempt to keep what was left of his battered emotions intact. But he had learned long ago that no one was allowed to pick their own fate. It had been her choice to leave, and when he was thinking clearly he knew that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

He could still clearly remember the moment he’d caught his first glimpse of her. The ballroom for the Fire Department’s annual charity fundraiser had been packed with department heads and prominent government officials, all of whom he should have given his full attention. He was deep in conversation with a supervisor, and people milled and socialized in between them, but for some reason his eyes were drawn to her from across the room. Then her head had turned and she was looking back at him with a soft, gentle smile. He felt his pulse quicken when the smile lasted seconds longer than it should, and even as she returned to her own conversation, her eyes held his.

At that moment her companion had excused herself to accompany a colleague and he’d decided he had to meet her. As he wove a path through the bodies between them, she’d stood almost expectantly, watching his movement with anticipation in her eyes that wouldn’t have allowed him to turn back if he’d tried.

Then the most amazing thing had happened – she’d touched him. He had reached for her hand to introduce himself and her skin had passed effortlessly through the thin barrier that always separated him from human contact.

And good lord had it felt amazing.

It had taken a great deal of charm and an embarrassing amount of persuasion, but he had finally managed to convince her to meet him for dinner and dancing. She was incredible. Bright, strong, kind and generous, the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, and she could touch him. Really touch him. He didn’t have to think about his mutation, he didn’t have to concentrate every time he wanted to feel her skin. When he was with her he could relax and be almost human again.

Four months later he’d found himself hovering near jewelry store windows. It was impulsive and crazy, but when he thought about the way her eyes danced when she looked at him, all he wanted to do was to spend a lifetime making her smile.

Then one day he woke up to find his bed empty and cold. He’d read the note four times before the black ink formed words that made sense to him. He hadn’t crumpled the paper or torn it up, but he did throw it away before he’d stripped his sheets and decided he needed a new apartment.

For that one long summer afternoon he’d thought about looking for her. But it wasn’t until she’d left him that he realized how little he truly knew of her. It hadn’t seemed strange before – on those rare occasions when he’d asked, she’d only teased him and said something about spending more time considering the future. And who was he to argue when her voice carried such genuine emotion and she smiled at him like he meant everything to her. But alone in his bed he reminded himself of those conversations, and everything he hadn’t seen at the time that now made sense, and he was glad that he hadn’t been impulsive for the woman who had planned all along to disappear.

That had been over a year ago.

Teyla stopped in front of him and he pulled himself from his thoughts. Looking over her shoulder, she indicated the corner they were approaching and mouthed, “Guards.” He nodded and watched as she disappeared through the wall.

He counted to three and then swung into the hall just in time to see one guard shout and fire at Teyla. When the bullet phased through and lodged in the plaster behind her, Lorne charged the second man, not even bothering to dodge the bullet that bounced off his force field.

It only took one punch to knock out the guard. Beside him, Teyla had already disarmed her man and was holding his weapon to his temple. He made his way to her. “Tell us where the drugs are,” Lorne demanded in a low voice.

When the guard didn’t respond, Teyla wrenched his arm and bit deeper into his skin with the barrel of her pistol.

“Up one floor. West end,” he said grudgingly. “Stairs at the end of the hall.”

Tossing the gun to Lorne, Teyla slipped the guard’s belt from his pants and used it to bind his hands together before gagging him and using the second man’s belt for his feet.

“That will have to do. We must hurry.” Despite the urgency, when she looked up at him, her expression softened briefly and she paused. “I am glad you are here, Evan.” Her gaze dropped to the floor and then back to him. She laid a hand on his arm and his whole body came alive at her touch. “It is good to see you again.”

In the next instant she brushed passed him and headed for the stairs.

\--

John jerked awake, instantly tense, and found himself strapped to a chair. He tugged a bit at the bindings and groaned when his wrists flared in pain. After a brief and ineffective struggle, he dropped his head and huffed a weary sigh. “Man, I am so screwed.”

“Tell me about it.”

John’s heart dropped and his head whipped around to her so fast that it made him a little lightheaded. “Elizabeth?” he asked worriedly. “Elizabeth, are you okay?”

She was bound to a chair beside him, her hair matted in a sweaty tangle that fell haphazardly across her face. When she tilted her head toward him he sucked in a deep breath and battled to keep the fear from showing in his expression. Her face was pale, her skin almost transparent, and her lips had faded to a sickly white. Blue veins tracked paths across her cheeks, and purple and red bruises ringed bloodshot eyes that were eerily devoid of color. “I’m all right,” she rasped softly.

Her response did nothing to comfort him.

She cleared her throat and hooked her cheek on her shoulder to brush aside a limp curl of hair. “How are you?”

“I’ll live.” He tried moving his arms again and grimaced. Feeling was definitely coming back to his limbs, and he was almost sorry. “This drug has some nasty side effects.”

She nodded and intoned with soft amusement, “And marketability takes a serious hit.” She paused and he could tell that just speaking took all of her concentration. “Listen, John,” she started, her voice thin with strain, “about what I said earlier –” she didn’t get any further before she dissolved into a fit of coughing. Her body curled around the spasms and she struggled to breathe.

When she’d settled, he offered softly, “Elizabeth, now isn’t the time –”

She coughed again, this time more weakly. Her lips twisted into a wan grin. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

He offered her a small smile in return. “I can think of somewhere else I’d like to be.” She managed to raise an eyebrow and John sighed. “Look, we don’t need to talk about it now.”

“Yes, we do,” she persisted stubbornly. “If we’re going to –”

“Don’t give me that ‘we shouldn’t die mad at each other’ bullshit.”

“I was going to say,” she drew a labored breath, “that if we’re going to keep working together, we’re going to have to iron things out between us.”

“What’s there to iron? We’re wrinkle free.” When she continued to stare at him expectantly, he asked quietly, “It has nothing to do with my mutation?”

“No.” She seemed to lose focus for a moment, but gathered herself and then continued. “This,” she inclined her head and indicated the two of them, “the two of us, it’s not real.”

John waited, watching her features carefully. When it was clear she didn’t plan to explain, he prodded her gently. “Not real?”

There was a long enough silence to make him worry. “John, I’m – I feel…” She let her eyelids drift shut for a moment. “What happened between us was an illusion, _my_ illusion, and I need to stop subjecting you to it.” Her words were weak but carefully controlled. “We aren’t John and Elizabeth from the other timeline. And we can never be them.”

He stared at her wordlessly for a moment, fear and frustration stinging his eyes. When Elizabeth had finally admitted the truth about her time traveling, she had remained cagey with the details. Still, he knew enough to conclude that somewhere out there in the future, he and Elizabeth were together. He also knew that the relationship Elizabeth had seen was not necessarily the path they would follow. What he didn’t know, however, and couldn’t tell from Elizabeth’s stilted explanations, was just what exactly Elizabeth’s role was when she jumped into the middle of that future relationship.

In the intervening months since her return, he had struggled through a litany of emotions and found that avoidance was the best course of action. His own feelings for Elizabeth had never run toward platonic or brotherly, but when Elizabeth had spoken of the other John – his future self – it had been with a touch of emotion that confused him.

Then things had grown heated between them, almost faster than he had been able to keep up with, and abruptly splashed cold when she had pulled suddenly away without explanation. Of all of the issues that were likely to come between them, he still couldn’t fully comprehend how their alternate selves factored into the equation. It was just too messy for him to sort out alone.

John turned to Elizabeth, and he held her gaze. “I know we’re not them, Elizabeth.” It was the only thing of which he was damn sure.

Her guarded expression remained intact. “Do you?” she asked. “Can you be sure that whatever is happening between us didn’t start just because I told you we were lovers in some alternate future?”

He flinched, but didn’t back down. “Even if that were true, it’s irrelevant. What matters is that I care about you. Here. Now.”

She shook her head fractionally. “I know you care about me,” she conceded, “but what you’re feeling is your protective instinct. I’m also fairly certain throwing myself at you didn’t help the situation.”

John opened his mouth and then bit down on his lip. He tugged again against the restraints. He needed to walk, needed to pace. He needed to slam his fist into a wall. He took a deep breath, wondering why he was trying so hard to fight for this when he couldn’t be sure if she even had feelings for him. “Look, Elizabeth, you don’t understand. I think I –”

“This is touching,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted, causing John’s head to whip up. An older man in a white lab coat was standing in the threshold of the room. “As much as I’d like to watch this little soap opera continue,” his eyes flicked to the hallway and back again, “we have some unexpected guests prowling about and need to get our business taken care of.”

“And what business is that?” Elizabeth asked, her back suddenly rigid and her voice impossibly strong. She didn’t bat an eye as she watched him approach.

Reaching into his lab coat, he withdrew a pair of syringes. Rage bubbled inside John, but it was faint and muted, a pale shadow of what he’d grown accustomed to with his mutation. For the first time he felt a pang at the loss.

“It’s time to try another dose.”

“Why?” John growled, straining again at his restraints. He needed to get Elizabeth away from this man. “You’ve already taken our mutations. Why inject us again?”

Elizabeth didn’t waver when she said, “He’s going to kill us.”

The man frowned at her explanation. “You make it sound so cold and heartless. This is the core of scientific experimentation. You should feel honored; your lives will benefit the greater good of society.” He waved a hand dramatically and John recoiled when the needle brushed past him. “We can learn so much from an autopsy of one cured of the disease. Who knows, you could be the breakthrough that saves the human population!”

“We _are_ human,” Elizabeth corrected firmly.

“Oh dear, dear,” he tsked, shaking his head, “you’re far from it. I’m trying to bring normalcy back – to restore the natural order of things. I’m sorry that there must be casualties, but I’m not sorry for what this will achieve.”

“Those without mutations are just as much a danger to mankind as are mutants,” Elizabeth argued calmly. “Each of us has the same capacity to hurt and the same ability to help.” Her breathing was becoming labored but she refused to back down. “The only people, mutant or otherwise, that cause harm are the ones that choose to do so. The ones like you.”

“That’s not true!” he snapped. “You can’t control your mutations! You can’t stop yourselves from causing destruction!”

“Neither can non-mutants,” she countered evenly. “Accidents happen. Car wrecks, fires – people die every day. Every person can inflict hurt, Zaddik.”

The man shook with rage. “Not like this. You haven’t seen what she can do.”

John was confused by the man’s sudden shift, but Elizabeth immediately softened. “Haven’t seen what who can do?”

“Ellia!” he cried angrily. “She’s a monster! The only way to save her is to destroy her mutant gene.”

“People need to be trained to use their abilities,” Elizabeth countered calmly. She looked up, eyes clearer than they had been before. “Their skills need to be nurtured and refined. I spent years locked in an institution before I could interact with society. But you have to know that elimination isn’t the only option.”

“It is for her,” he barked before removing the cap and tapping the barrel of the syringe. He loomed menacingly over Elizabeth. “And I need you to do it.”

John shook with rage, tearing at the bindings that held him down. “Don’t!” he yelled. “Please!”

Zaddik turned to John. “Don’t worry,” he said flatly, “you’re next.” Elizabeth avoided the needle by scooting away as far as she was able. Then she began to thrash. “Hold still,” he ordered, “or I’ll break your little neck.” He reached out to grip her throat with one hand, while he lowered the needle to her neck.

Behind John the door opened with so much force that it slammed against the wall. Shouts echoed and John craned his neck to watch Cameron, Rodney, Ronon, Teyla and Lorne pour into the room, weapons drawn.

“Well, well,” Zaddik said, eerily undeterred by their blatant show of force. “It appears the cavalry has arrived. Unfortunately,” he pressed the needle into Elizabeth’s vein and brought his thumb to the plunger, “you’re too late.”

“Stop!” Lorne barked, his hand stretched forward and glowing with energy.

“Don’t!” Spikes of terror rammed through John as he watched Lorne’s jaw clench and the muscles in his arm flex. “You’ll hit Elizabeth!” He looked to Cameron, trying to communicate something, anything, but all he found was a mutual desperation.

“What do you want from them?” Teyla asked. “What can we give you to let them go?”

Before he could answer, Rodney stepped forward.

Zaddik flinched. “If you move again,” he hissed, “I will inject her.”

Rodney continued to advance and John could feel Zaddik tense beside him, his thumb hovering precariously over the syringe. “Don’t, McKay,” John warned. “Stay back.”

Rodney shook his head and continued his approach.

John’s voice hardened. “McKay, stop!”

“One more step,” Zaddik warned, “and she dies.”

“Before you make threats,” Rodney said evenly, “you should ensure that you can follow through with them.”

“Like this?” Zaddik asked, thumb pressing down on the plunger.

John jerked against his restraints with a roar of rage.

Rodney watched calmly as Zaddik was unable to depress the syringe.

“What have you done?”

Rodney reached forward and snatched the drug from Zaddik. “Liquids and I have an understanding,” he explained.

John’s heart dropped from his throat to his stomach and he allowed himself to breathe.

An energy shield appeared around Zaddik, holding him in place while Rodney handed the syringe to Carson.

“Aye, this should be enough to analyze,” Carson said before making his way toward Elizabeth. “It’s time to get you out of here, lass.” Elizabeth nodded weakly and Carson started on her bindings, motioning for Cameron to assist him.

Rodney stepped up to John and looked him over critically. “You look awful.”

“Good to see you too, McKay.” John finally allowed himself to focus on something other than Elizabeth and found that his adrenaline had receded just enough to allow the pain to resurface. He grimaced when Rodney tried to sit him upright. “You stopped the drug from traveling through the needle.”

“Ah, yes. I thought that part was rather ingenious.”

John brought a hand to his ribs as he scooted to stand. He shook his head. “I give you a flooded building to play with and you save the day with an ounce?”

Rodney shrugged. “It was thoughtful of you, but I’m not really into big showy displays of power.”

Lorne stepped up beside them and raised an eyebrow. “That’s unfortunate, because I was thinking we could roll Zaddik around in his shield like a hamster in a ball. Some waves would really make less work on my part.”

John laughed.

“New guy thinks he’s funny.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Just what we need with this crew – another comedian.”

\--

Elizabeth wrapped her fingers tightly around the cold metal railing of the Nautical and sighed into the wind. Beneath her, water sparkled in the moonlight, a thick, rich black that promised unimaginable depths. Above her, clouds loomed ominously, heavy and impenetrable and poised to break. In between, a storm was building and the tension that accompanied its imminent arrival rolled off the ocean and over her skin in waves.

He spoke softly when he approached. “Ellia didn’t make it. We heard from the hospital – her third surgery last night, she never regained consciousness.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, her vision fixed on the ocean. “I know.”

“His daughter was killed by the officers that were trying to rescue her.”

She lifted one shoulder in the barest of shrugs. “She couldn’t control herself. They had no choice.”

John nodded and stepped up beside her. “Her father’s antidote may have worked one day.”

She thought what might have worked would have been training and understanding. Instead, she said, “We’ll never know.”

He turned to face her. “You cold?” he asked, dropping a hand to the railing beside hers.

She shivered when she felt the heat radiating from his skin, but shook her head firmly. “No. I just needed some air.”

John hummed his acceptance of her obvious lie. “Carson’s infirmary could stand to be a little more spacious.” He adjusted himself a bit closer to her.

She ignored the butterflies in her stomach and shifted her weight away from him. She pushed her hair from her eyes. “The three week recoup time isn’t helping matters,” she added with a rueful smile.

It had only been two weeks since the Daimos Corp incident, since Zaddik had tried to eradicate their mutations using a Ferassin root injection that almost killed them. Carson had miraculously synthesized an antidote once he got his hands on the original drug, but the days that followed had been a slow and painful recovery process, and they were all still struggling to regain their full strength. Elizabeth, with two injections and a lithe frame, had been the slowest to recover. It had taken her until today to be able to stand upright long enough to wander outside.

Despite the time spent with John and Ronon in close quarters, she and John hadn’t really spoken in the past few weeks. Part of that – most of it, she conceded – had been because she couldn’t straighten things out in her own mind. An awkward tension always seemed to hang between them when they were alone, and neither knew quite how to break it. Together they’d struggled through unbeatable odds and survived, only to face awkward pauses and conversations that felt more daunting than capture by rogue mutants or deranged scientists. And she couldn’t help but think that it was her fault, that she’d irrevocably damaged what could have become a lasting friendship.

Letting a slow breath slip through her lips, she looked back to the sky and watched the clouds draw nearer.

“We haven’t been able to talk about what happened.” John’s voice carried easily on the wind. “The infirmary’s been like Grand Central Station the past few weeks.”

Elizabeth bit her lip but didn’t speak.

“I wanted to apologize,” he continued tentatively, “for the things I said, for accusing you of not trusting me.” She watched his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the rail. “What we have is important to me. It takes a lot for me to let someone matter to me and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, regardless of my feelings.”

His feelings.

A tide of guilt swept up from her stomach so fast that it was difficult to swallow against. She was honestly ashamed of the way she’d let her glimpse into the future affect her and, by extension, John. She’d been so easily caught up by the depth of the other John’s feelings for his own Elizabeth that she’d been unable to consider the situation rationally. Then, to make matters worse, she’d come back into her own timeline still reeling from the experience and projected those absurd feelings onto her own John about two seconds after she had seen him again. It had all been incredibly unfair of her.

The whole mess was a tangled web of alternate selves and other dimensions, muddled by relationships that were and relationships that weren’t, and in the end _this_ John Sheppard was an innocent victim of _her_ emotional rollercoaster. She’d taken advantage of him – and in just the same way the future John had taken advantage of her. She and John were starting to build something based on a relationship that existed between two completely different people in a reality that was really only a shadow of their own.

Once she’d realized that, she stepped back. She’d tried to remove her emotions from the scenario and distance herself from John as best she could. But in the end her retreat had caused him just as much pain. No matter how hard she’d tried to act naturally around him, she couldn’t quite remember what their relationship was like before.

She tightened her hold on the railing. This is exactly why the idea of them together was a problem in the first place, she reminded herself. Alternate realities and emotional confusion aside, being involved with someone you needed to work with in order to save the world just made things messy and screwed with her priorities.

“The other you,” he asked after a moment, “did she love him?”

He’d said it purposefully, but he averted his eyes at the end, as if his confidence had faltered and he was no longer sure that he wanted to hear the answer. She dropped her head slightly, afraid that the emotions on her face would be too telling. “Yes,” she admitted on a careful exhale. She brushed a hand over her cheek. “Yes, she did.”

He took a breath and held it before voicing the question she’d been asking herself since she’d returned. “Did you love him?”

“John,” she broke off, unsure of what she wanted to say, “I…” She pushed herself off the rail and wrapped her arms around herself. John shrugged off his coat and wordlessly draped it over her shoulders, his hands sliding to rest at her elbows while her own fisted in the coarse fabric. Shuddering out a deep sigh, she moistened her lips. She whispered her words apologetically, “You’re a good man, John Sheppard.”

His fingers tightened slightly, and then fell away. His hands slipped into his pockets and he forced a slight upward curve to his lips, though his voice wavered when he spoke. “That’s what my mother always told me.” Thunder crackled overhead and he looked up to the darkening sky. “I guess I’m going to head inside.” He dropped his gaze and hesitated a moment before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her cheek. “You should too.”

Quiet and still, she watched him walk away. As she blinked back tears and turned to the ocean, the sky finally opened and large drops of rain began to splash against her face.


End file.
